


The Family We Make

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Clone AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: Celebrimbor was five the first time he heard his uncles and father argue about false elves.He did not realize how much that argument was about him until years later.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	The Family We Make

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a 100 words of finding out you’re a clone prompt on FFA.
> 
> Fair warning, Maedhros has feelings about clones stemming from his time as Morgoth’s captive in this fic that negatively impact Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor had been five the first time he heard his uncles and father arguing about false elves.

Maedhros was horribly angry at the mere thought of them, screaming and ranting about how could anyone think that it was appropriate to make a replica of another elf. Celebrimbor’s father yelled back about how could Maedhros have any opinions, he had not even been there since he got himself chained to a mountain by a dark lord.

“Which means I saw Morgoth and Gorthaur’s experiments as well, brother- do you think that they do not dabble in similar?” Maedhros spat at Curufin, scarred wrist lifted into the air as Maglor shot up with the Ambarussa to separate them.

Celebrimbor did not hear the rest, that night or any other when his uncles and father are all together. One of his uncles always calmed down the fight, and eventually Maedhros’ anger seemed to die down.

In the back of his mind, however, he always wondered, especially when he spotted the strange looks Maedhros sometimes gave him.

It was Caranthir who finally told him, when he came from his own lands bearing presents for Celegorm and Curufin along with gifts for Celebrimbor himself.

Later that night, Caranthir came to his rooms. “Did you like your gifts, Tyelpe?”

“Yes, Uncle - especially the mithril, it is rare for any of us to have some to work with, and you have given me six ounces for myself. I worry that it was too much,” Celebrimbor blurted out, worry mixed with excitement in his voice.

“It is fine. I have enough from the dwarves, and if I did not give it to you, I would have to give it to your father. I do my best to not give Curufin gifts that will encourage him to think of me as a free source of craft supplies, so...” Caranthir drawled off. 

Celebrimbor laughed. “If you are sure, I will use it gladly.”

“I am.” Caranthir smiled, before he looked at Celebrimbor and sighed. “I wish I did not have to do this.”

“Uncle?” Celebrimbor dropped the mithril back into the box. “What do you have to do?”

“Answer questions that you have had for years, but have so far refused to ask any of us.” Caranthir’s lips were pinched. It was not his angry expression, which would have been normal, if not comforting. It was his worried look, which was far worse. “You are an adult now, and I would rather you hear it from one of us than discover such yourself.”

Celebrimbor’s hands fell to his sides. The only thing he has wondered about and not asked about had been those strange arguments between his father and Maedhros over such a seemingly odd subject. “What do you need to tell me about their fights?”

Caranthir took a breath. “It begins earlier than that, with our father’s death, or earlier, in Valinor.”

“Oh,” Celebrimbor said. “That’s-“ 

He did not finish his thought, unable to think of an appropriate end.

“You do not have to say anything for my sake, Tyelpe. I am fine discussing it,” Caranthir said.

Celebrimbor nodded. 

“Curufin has always been most interested in what he could create. His favorite story as a child was of how Aulë had created the dwarves as his children in his own image. More than anything, Curufin fears being alone. It is why Celegorm is nearly always with him, it is why he dreads you disappearing from his sight, it is why despite his general snappishness, he craves us all visiting. Our father was the same way. He feared losing his own father, and when our grandfather did die, we feared he would lose himself to grief.” Caranthir paused for a moment, taking another breath. 

“You know how that ended. And then our father died himself, and Maedhros was tricked by Morgoth, and we feared that Curufin’s grief at what was three losses would overwhelm him. He started to spend more time in his private forge and refused to tell any of us what he was doing.”

Suspicion was growing in Celebrimbor’s mind. Surely his father had not. Surely he-

His dread must have shown on his face, because Caranthir reached across the bed to pat his arm before continuing. “Curufin has also always been willing to push at boundaries. Our father was dead, but Curufin was determined to craft more family. And so he crafted a baby in the image of our father.”

Celebrimbor let out a cry of dismay that cut off any further explanation.

His father- Curufin, was Curufin even considered his father now? - Curufin had made him as a replacement. It was not an unfortunate fact of fate that he had not met his grandfather- Fëanor, that he had not met Fëanor - but a matter of design. Celebrimbor would not exist if Fëanor had not died. Maedhros had called false elves- him, Tyelpe was one - he had called Tyelpe an abomination during one fight. ‘An abomination that cannot replace anything’ had been Maedhros’ exact words. 

“Tyelpe? Are you alright?” Caranthir’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“Was Maedhros right?” Celebrimbor asked.

“What?” Caranthir blinked. “When did you speak to Maedhros and what does he have to do with anything?”

“Not recently. Soon after he returned - soon after I was made, I suppose.” Celebrimbor refused to look up, clutching the bedspread in his hands. “He said that false elves were an abomination. That making such was the work of Morgoth and Gorthaur. That-”

“Nay!” Caranthir interjected. “Maedhros was wrong. He forgets much, that Aulë also made the dwarves in an echo of himself. That Gorthaur also dabbles in smithcraft, and that is hardly evil just because he does. There is no need to doubt yourself because my eldest brother is sometimes a fool.”

“But if I am supposed to be a replica of Fëanor, am I not a failure at that, and therefore an abomination? It is not as though I am really anyone’s child,” Celebrimbor muttered and still did not lift his gaze from the bed.

“Look at me, Tyelpe,” Caranthir said. “Tyelpe, please.”

Celebrimbor reluctantly lifted his eyes, 

Caranthir smiled at him again. “I will admit that I had my own doubts when Curufin first developed his scheme. I was afraid he would force you to act like our father, and that is too much to force on any child. But he did not. As soon as you took your first breath, he fell in love with you as his child.”

“But-”

“You are not an abomination, Tyelpe. You are my brother’s son and my nephew, and were our father to have somehow had the chance to meet you, his grandson, he would have been so proud of you and loved you as well.” 

Celebrimbor suddenly jerked forward, clutching his uncle and sobbing. 

“Everything will be fine, Tyelpe. If anything, you are the best of us all,” Caranthir said, hugging Celebrimbor to him. “All will be fine.”


End file.
